Golden Flower
by Broken-and-fallen
Summary: He watches it with a sort of sick fascination. A group of one shots. Angst, and the first one is a tad disturbing. RoyEd.
1. Golden Flower

He watches it with a sort of sick fascination.

As each ruby drop slips down the miniscule tube his golden eyes follow it, traveling down the glass. It's times like this that I am almost frightened of my brother, thinking that his sanity had left him and all that was left was an obsessed shell, casting away all rationality to sit and just _look_.

It is strange to think that he is only sixteen. Yes he looks like his age, but when he is like this, he looks old and weary, as if the burden on his shoulders were crushing him to death. He shoulders on however, not caring about himself and focusing mainly on me. Sometimes, when it his silent, he just sits and stares at me, as if the adoration in his eyes would shed away the armor like a shell and reveal the child beneath, frightened and alone. It is his obsession, to have me whole again, I am his obsession.

The look on his face makes me feel sick to my stomach. He stares, mouth open slightly, faint breath fogging up the glass, molten golden eyes wide and reflecting the red liquid that ran down the window in streams. He is strong, he is fearless, but he is sick nonetheless. It is like a disease that grows in him, spearing and swallowing his heart and leaving an empty cage behind.

I'd like to think there's something in that cage. Like a small golden flower blooming out of a pile of dust. You can see the flower in his eyes, if you look hard enough. It blooms and shines when he is happy, you see droplets run off its petals when he cries. I have seen the flower before, but lately it has been sheltered, tucked away inside.

The droplets hit the flower when Nina was transmuted; it shook and blackened when she died. I saw it shiver when the Colonel approached him in the rain, telling him he couldn't save everyone, he couldn't bring everyone back to life, he _couldn't_ play god.

The Colonel had turned and walked away, and though I know the dark haired man hadn't seen it, I had. The flower twitched and lifted, like it was awakening for the first time. I could see a sort of saneness reflect in Ed's eyes for a moment, and I'm sure the flower brightened.

His human fingers brush against the glass, as if he could feel the warm residue that poured on the other side of the window. A small, barely noticeable, smile curves his chapped lips. It is insane and if I had a body I would shiver. I want to scream at him, to shake his shoulders and just scream at him. I cry quietly, and for a moment I wish I could feel the tears stream down my face, just for a moment, just so brother can _see_.

He is kneeling in front of the window, hands placed on the glass, staring through it with that twisted half-smile. I sit against the wall, I don't dare approach him, the last time he was like this and I tried to approach him he had turned to me with a strange glint in his eyes.

"_Don't you see it Al?"_

He had whispered.

"_Don't you see it?"_

I was scared then.

"_I don't see it," I had said, very quietly._

Edward had slowly turned back to the window and said under his breath, as a hushed whisper that was concealed and confidential-

"_I see it"  
_

I try to muffle my sobs; I stuff my large gloved hands against my helmet as I cry. It does not make a difference, what mouth is there to muffle? But I'd like to think it makes some difference. Edward turned to me and left the window, left that god-forsaken window. He knelt beside me and stared at my helmet for a moment, before leaning forward and pulling my armor into a hug.

"I see it" I sob to him "I do"

"I know" Edward whispers. The blood pours down the window, and the screams of the thieves in the street being massacred by the Military were echoing through their room. The door opens, and the Colonel steps into the room, blood splattered on his uniform.

Edward turns to him, and I can see the flower bloom.

_Fin._


	2. He dreams of melting gold

He dreams of melting gold.

The flame so easily spreads through the weak metal and it turns to burning liquid that runs over his fingertips. It burns - but it never scars him - the gold loved him too much to.

He hadn't the courage to tell the gold it was too easy to melt - too easy to break or be bent. He was too scared to tell the gold it was weak - even if it never showed.

Maybe he was scared to tell it that it was weak, because then it would have lost the one thing he loved about it.

He loved the fact it couldn't always win - it couldn't always have a happy ending. He loved the fact that he was always needed there to pick up the pieces. If the gold strengthened - stiffened - stopped running so easily across his fingertips - then the gold would be taken away from him forever.

How cruel - was it cruel for the gold, or for him?

He wanted to keep the gold close to him, never taken away, but was it cruel not to tell the gold it was cracked? Split?

He dreams of waking in darkness.

There is smoke everywhere but he can breathe easily - how unfair - he thinks vaguely. Shadows are scattered around him and yet they do not belong to him - they are abstract and unfamiliar, and yet he has no shadow of his own.

He dreams of waking in softness.

Opening his eyes, Roy sat up out of bed slowly. The first light of dawn spread across the bedroom, and dew still clung to the window to which he looked.

Edward sat beside the window, and untouched book in his lap as he rested his forehead against the glass.

The gold had that look in his eyes again.

Every so often the gold would see the cracks - the creases - and it would frighten him. It would frighten him so much the gold would fall silent.

Climbing out of bed Roy padded over to Edward in silence and sits in front of him - resting his forehead against the gold's. Edward smiled slightly and a tear rolls out of his eye.

Is it selfish of him not to tell him about the cracks so that he was still needed?

Was it selfish of him not to fix them himself?

He dreams of kissing gold.


	3. He was kneeling at the fountain again

He was kneeling in front of the fountain again.

Fullmetal would sometimes - on his way back to the dorms - pause in front of a large stone fountain, the sculpture at the centre of two Military men with interlocking sceptres. The water inside was a dull brown colour, moss gathering at the cracks and the small fish inside swimming fruitlessly around for some sort of cleanliness.

Fullmetal would place his gloved hands on the stones and lean forward, so that his braid swung over his shoulder and barely skimmed the surface. It was miniscule, but I could see that the younger alchemist would sometimes rock gently forward - like someone preparing to jump off the edge of a cliff - gathering his courage.

The streets are filled with people but no-one gives the boy a glance - even in his odd choice of position. There's a small smile on Edward's lips as he reaches forward with his right hand - his automail hand - and lets his fingertips dance across the water, dulling the crisp white of his gloves to a stained cream.

I can see Alphonse sitting on a bench beside the cobblestone road, staring at his feet with his hands braced on his knees. He could almost pass as a statue, and indeed some children were tapping his back and shoulders with little fists - giggling at the echoes that ensued.

People look at me as I stride my way over to the fountain with me head held high. They had every right to - I was Colonel Roy Mustang, the famous Flame Alchemist - Hero of the battle of the Ishbalans. They had every right to admire me.

Who else would have murdered all those innocent children so they didn't have to?

I reach Edward and tap his leg lightly with my booted foot; he takes a while to look up at me. My bright blue uniform stands out abnormally in the dull surroundings of the street and I watch as there is a slight frown in his eyes as he stands.

"I was on my way over anyway"

"I know"

"You really didn't have to come and find me"

"I know"

I take his arm gently in my hand and lead him back to HQ. I hear the sounds of children screaming as their supposed statue, Alphonse, stands and hurriedly follow his brother.

I smile genuinely down at Edward, and his looks up at me with those large golden eyes.

"I'm sure the jump could wait for another day, right Fullmetal?"

He seems confused, embarrassed, and happy all at once as he smiles up at me - the happiness in his eyes rivalling the dead that it had replaced.

"I know"

He sais, and his hand slips into mine - concealed by our flapping jackets from the rest of the world.

He knows every time he visits the fountain, I'll be there to pull him back so he doesn't fall into the Abyss of his Sins.


	4. Fire Eater

He was like the Fire Eaters.

You know those men and women at the Gypsy festivals, with the torches alight with flame? They take some alcohol in their mouth and spit it over the torch, so that a plume of smoke and fire rises into the sky.

He reminds me of them, as I watch him practicing in the Military grounds. As he raises his hand each obstacle combusts and bursts into flame. Military members and a good majority of the Secretarial pool watch on with gasps and admiring shouts as each explosion sends their hair rippling backwards.

I sit up in the building - watching from the window. I have many books in front of me, that I have been waiting to read for weeks, but they are untouched as I watch him through the glass. I wonder what he would say if he knew that - smirk probably.

He plays and toys with fire - deciding where it would go, how it would explode and implode, where the fire would turn. But every single time - unconsciously or consciously I didn't know - he would make sure the flame didn't touch his own skin, a safety necessity - I presumed.

The last obstacle awaited the snap and heat of the Colonel's flame - but I can't see it - a flagpole obstructs my view. I stand and pry open the window, leaning out of it and pulling the hair that flies in front of my face behind my ear.

He has a steady smirk on his face as he raises his hand and snaps his fingers together - the stuffed dummy exploding with an extra loud bang. For the fans - I thought dryly - as the crowd cheered and screamed.

I lean back inside but I leave the window open - so that the room fills with the faint smell of smoke - strange I should find it comforting. I finally open my book but I never finish the first page as the sound of approaching boots sound in the corridor outside the room.

I frowned; I'd have hoped that the place I chose was concealed enough. Nobody ever used the stock rooms anymore, a good place to not be disturbed. The door opens and I'm surprised as the Colonel enters the room - seemingly oblivious to my presence as I watch him close the door quietly behind him and lean against it with a sigh.

He pulls off his glove, and my eyes widen as I see the shining red burns that run across his knuckles, palm and wrist. He smiles thinly, and glances up, finally noticing me.

He hurriedly pulls the glove back on - but the damage has been done. He watches me warily with liqueur eyes, awaiting my response.

I pause, and then offer him an understanding smile.

He hesitates, and then smiles slightly back.

After all, Fire Eaters are human too.


	5. Memories

Memories are thoughts of the past. We remember them when are prompted, or reminded of something that has already come to happen. Some memories make us smile, or laugh, or blush with embarrassment.

Some memories make us hurt.

Edward let his human fingers trail softly across the metal rail of the stairwell. The stairs led down to his old schoolyard, which was empty of students or teachers. The bar was bitingly cold and water clung to his fingers from icicles that covered it, though he didn't take them away.

His cheeks and upper lip were numb from cold, and his legs felt like lead. Though, trudging slowly down the steps, Edward didn't seem to notice. Reaching the bottom of the stairwell, Edward shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed out into the middle of the courtyard.

The Resembool School was small, and only consisted of two buildings and a small courtyard. At the center of the courtyard, in the middle of four benches, grew a large cherry blossom tree. Edward, Alphonse and Winry used to have their special places between the roots, where they would eat their lunch and play.

In winter, the tree was frozen, almost coated in ice. And the usual flowering branches were hung with spires of ice.

Edward watched it carefully for a few moments, before approaching it and kneeling down, settling his back against the trunk and drawing his knees up to his chest. Resting his head back, he closed hazy golden eyes.

--

Roy stood on the landing of the stairwell, and watched Edward sit quietly beneath the frozen sculpture.

Some memories made us hurt inside. They hurt our heart, and make our chest ache. They bring a sting to our eyes and tears that drench our skin.

But, when its cold, and all seems alone.

Some memories bring us warmth.


	6. Snap

_Snap._

He didn't realise it had became a habit until Alphonse had mentioned it one day on the train. Brother, he had said, your snapping your fingers. The older brother had glanced down at his hands to see that he had been, for the past few minutes. Snap. Snap. Snap.

It became a habit. It became an obsession. He never did it when he was at HQ, when he was holed away in the Colonel's office with warm hands and a warm mouth, sad smiles and blistered fingers. Comfort, was all it was. But soon that became an obsession too.

_Snap._

He half expected flames to burst from his fingertips when he did it. He never did it when he was at HQ. It was comfort away from comfort. It was warmth away from warmth. It was fire and heat and sting when all there was of **him** was absence.

His fingers scrunch up against the scratchy gravel-texture of the wall. It's slippery with fluid that he can't bear to look at. Its red and bright and shiny and it hurts his heart to see.

She used to call him little-older brother. Her hair spun like chestnut ropes when the three of them played together.

But now all remained of her was a disfigured splatter against an alleyway wall.

_Snap._

He never did it when he was at HQ. There was always that one smirk, that one dark gaze that would silently remind him he didn't need to. Comfort was there, heat was there, warmth and sting and bite. He didn't need to do it at HQ.

_Snap._

You can't play god, the Colonel says, hands clenched and tight around his arms. You can't save everyone; it's not your right to do so. But they both **wish** it were, how they wish it were.

_Snap._

Alphonse, but not quite Alphonse, looks at him in a cart as they trundle their way to a fair. Beautiful women are cramped around him singing and laughing and teasing but he only has eyes for the mossy grass that crawled past them as they moved.

Fondly he thinks he can see a trench coat–clad silhouette far ahead. Like it was on fire, it filled up his eyes with fire and sting and fluid. Not **her** type of fluid, red and warm. But **his** type of fluid, clear and soft and loving and **yes I miss you too**.

He looks down at his hand, and the not quite Alphonse follows his gaze. Its not as warm, not as stinging, not as comforting. But its home away from home, and that's good enough till he returns to a warm mouth and calloused fingers.

…

_Snap._


	7. Clap

_Clap._

He didn't suppose he had realised it until the boy hit sixteen. Edward Elric, the famed

'Fullmetal Alchemist'. Before he had been a child, round faced, red cheeked, glaring and pouting and **shut up you Bastard. **

He had changed from a child into Edward Elric. Elegantly pointed chin and sparkling golden eyes. Soft - - much too soft - - hair. Edward's sly, mischievous grins that promised tricks and for Him always treats.

_Clap._

Lithe body, smooth skin. If Edward lowered his lashes just once, when he was reading or writing or just contemplating chemical compound...

He was always mesmerised by the way Edward's large eyes widened and wavered in Fear. In the alleyway, that would forever be engraved in their memories, wide eyes, wide golden eyes, blood and rain and **please don't forget.**

_Clap._

Please don't forget.

_Clap._

They came to visit him, in his isolated home in the snow. Snow he hoped wouldn't remind him of Edward. Of the Fullmetal Alchemist. Of the boy. He heard them talking outside. We should invite Riza, they said, she'd be able to reason with him. No, said the other, that's not who he's waiting.

No.

Not her.

Him.

Just Him.

Please don't forget.

_Clap._

He held Alphonse back as the older brother went to go through the gate for the second time, to leave Amestris for the second time. Older now, but still elegant, lithe, golden eyes and soft hair and **god please don't forget.**

And, for a moment, gold eyes flickered lovingly from their younger brother to his, and for a moment, he knew.

I'll never forget.

_Clap._

And for the third time the Fullmetal Alchemist comes through the gate, he isn't there. Because he doesn't know. He answers the isolated home door with dread and sorrow. And there he his, standing there, sly mischievous grin always promising a trick and **always **promising a treat, just for him.

Edward goes to Snap. The Colonel goes to Clap.

Just to see if they are dreaming but **secretlydesperatelyhoping** that they're not. Hoping they won't way with burning chests and burning eyes and liquid clear and smooth.

But they stop.

Calloused and scratchy hands come together, slow, soft, and **please remember**. And mouths, warm and needy and **yes I remember**. And eyes, gold and obsidian, liquid filled but not **her** liquid, **their** liquid. And falling back together inside the home, arms clutching tight and eyes clutching closed and hands clutching something just to know that -

Yes.

**I'll never forget.**

_Fin._


	8. Rain

--

Roy had always been under the assumption that he and Edward were complete opposites. And he savoured their relationship because of that. He had his share of women, of their varied personalities. Some were too clingy, some were too distant, some were warm and comforting, some were cold and sly.

But Edward Elric could be considered as an entirely new creature.

He was hot-tempered, intelligent, cunning, mischievous, sly, humorous, quick to anger, and with such a gorgeous appearance that could only be handled by someone who didn't **know** they were gorgeous. And to Roy's knowledge Edward didn't like rain, whenever it rained at HQ he would come stomping into Roy's office with a scowl on his face and a surly look, squelching over to his desk in soggy shoes and dragging the dark haired man down for a passionate kiss.

Roy loved their relationship because of that, because he knew for a fact that they were completely different. Or, at least, he thought they were completely different.

"Edward?" he had been driven home in the pouring rain to a house that was completely empty. Ed hadn't even bothered to start a fire, and it was warmer **outside** then it was **inside**.

Heading upstairs, he still couldn't find the younger alchemist. The bedroom doors were thrown open into the balcony, and the silk curtains were fluttering in the cold wind. Heading over to the balcony, Roy's booted feet splashed against the puddles there and looked down into the back yard. And he smiled.

And Edward, dancing on the puddled grass with his hair loose and tumbled wet down his shoulder, arms flung out wide and golden eyes sparkling, grinned back at him.

Roy guessed he was wrong, on both accounts. Edward really did love rain.

He went back to the staircase, jumping two steps at a time in eagerness to join the blonde.

And for the second account, well…

Maybe having similarities in relationships isn't such a bad prospect after all.

--


End file.
